


every bird will spread its wings

by skitty_titty



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: M/M, Metaphors, Post!FC4 Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitty_titty/pseuds/skitty_titty
Summary: here, you see their relationship take flight, as if exploring the skies for the first time. nothing is prettier than a bird or two soaring, winds spread; a show of grace.





	every bird will spread its wings

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:   
>  -talks of insomnia  
> 

their relationship - or, perhaps, you could not even call it that - was stress-free. there may be better words, but stress-free is good enough. you could call it casual, no strings attached; the list of synonyms goes on.

it’s not that they’re not attracted to each other, or that they’re scared. if anything, it’s the opposite.

they’ve got all the time in the world, yet they’re running out quicker than they can count. there’s a war going on, after all.

but it’s okay.

they’re fine with a lingering hug, an extra pat on the back, an occasional kiss on the side of their lips, a thank you, a promise, a noise of acknowledgement.

it’s sunny, unnaturally so, when pagan min leaves the country, with a nice wave and a smile, as if he never wanted to be there in the first place. ajay waves back, despite everything - he’s still a little bit thankful, on his mother's behalf, maybe, and no one else is there to see his display.

it’s sunny, with a blue sky that resembles a bird’s plume, and clouds that look like the white that weaves through it; perfect for flying in, or doing anything without being worried about a bullet in the brain.

so he climbs in the nearest vehicle he can find; it’s a Royal Army car, with the engine smoking just a little, but ajay likes to think he’s a good driver so he ignores the risk of death. there’s a mountain not to far from pagan’s fortress, and he arrives fairly quickly. there’s a paraglider already ready.

so, with a light heart, he soars over a free kyrat and - and it’s not that different, really.

 

* * *

 

the only thing that does change - or, well, not the only thing, but the strangest, least expected thing - is that sabal steps down.

amita and sabal have been at each other’s throats for so long, waiting until the other gives in and climbs out of their shell so that they can go in for the kill, except instead of risking his life, sabal just turned around and walked off, leaving a very confused amita - the picture of amita in an animal’s shell is funny, to ajay, and he snorts to himself.

sabal still visits amita, and is made a member of her council and helps clean up the country (or, at least, start to), though doesn’t answer any questions on why he left.

it’s when there’s a knock on ajay’s door, - a quick seven beats, that resemble the makings of a cliche - in the place where he feels most at home, when in a country he’s not sure he’s allowed to call his, that he’s surprised; no one visits poor ajay who remains on top of a hard-to-climb hill (he’s kidding; he doesn’t mind the solitude, when he has yogi and reggie - he still doesn’t know which is which - who live in a tent mere meters away).

he answers the door with a smile and a frown (trust me; his face looks quite amusing), though that clears like the bird of the sky when he sees sabal standing there, hair resting between his shoulders - for once -, wearing what resembles a nice outfit, holding a book out to him.

“sabal?” ajay says, his tone incredulous. he’s surprised, for lack of a better word. surprised, mixed with confused; a silent _why are you here?_ there’s also a verbal ‘why are you here?’ shared, too.

“amita’s been giving my jobs, and to visit you was on the list.” he says, a small smile gracing his lips, stretching the scar that cuts through them (is it weird that ajay thinks it makes him look better, more like he should?). “it’s still weird to call her queen. i don’t quite think i can do it.”

there’s a chuckle shared between them; i missed you, just a little.

“why’d she want you to visit me?”

“perhaps she thought you’d get lonely-” his tone takes on a teasing element, now, with a spark in his eye and a breathy laugh- “poor, old ajay, who saved kyrat and spent the rest of his days on an unclimbable hill.”

“it’s not unclimbable, sabal. you’re here.”

“i’m here by brute strength and raging determination alone.” a pause, slightly awkward, where they both falter in what to say. ajay moves aside, which works for sabal as an invitaton inside.

“what’s that?” ajay asks, referencing the book sabal still has in his talons. they’re both sat on the couch now, two beers between them. they’re laying against each other, a position more than strictly platonic, but when did they ever play by the rules?

“a diary.” sabal replies. “you let me read mohan’s diary entries, and made me realise i idolised a sick man.”

“don’t blame yourself for what you didn’t know.” ajay cuts in, gently. “the only one who knew was pagan and my mother, and none of which had an opportunity or reason to tell you.”

“i know.”

“it’s fine.” ajay snuggles a little closer (his excuse is that he’s cold, but he’s wearing, like, three layers and it is Incredibly Warm inside the homestead). “continue.”

“it’s ishwari’s diary.” sabal says, and hands it over, and ajay immediately flicks through it, seeing page after page of writing, pretty swirls, and the occasional boredom-fueled drawings; it’s pretty, and resembles his mother well, he thinks. “amita gave it to me; said one of her men found it when going through a guest bedroom’s drawers.”

“i’ll have to thank her later. for now, i’ll thank you.”

and that’s all it takes, for ajay to turn and press a kiss to sabal’s lips. neither of them are surprised; more that this was expected, and both gladly welcome it, like a fledgeling accepting its mother’s love.

neither makes a move to make it more, and - after a moment shared between them - ajay settles again, curling back into his pillow’s side.

“you’re welcome.” sabal murmurs back, and the volume of the room suddenly feels so much quieter, so much more personal. speaking louder than a whisper was sure to break it.

they remain glued together, almost resembling puzzle pieces, until one falls asleep, and the other’s arm falls numb and he has to leave, with chaste kiss left on his lover’s forehead - is lover still the right word? - and a whispered, lingering goodbye, as the words hang in the air even if they fall on deaf ears.

 

* * *

 

ajay wakes up alone.

but it’s okay.

he’s more than used to it by now.

(it still stings, even if there’s a note by his door, reading off regrets and apologies)

 

* * *

 

sabal doesn’t find himself a house - he moves around a bit too much for that - but he stays in an abandoned cabin by a lake frequently enough to call it his own. he’s there so often, in fact, that ajay goes there to find him, with or without calling him first, and is sometimes shocked when he finds the house empty, with the pigs staring at him; they’re the slightest bit curious, but they mainly seem aloof, with eyes staring into your soul, wondering whether you’re there to feed them.

it seems sabal has taken the quieter route of life, which no one had expected of him. he helps out a lot, with finances - which he’s surprisingly good at - and helping people gather supplies, but he spends the rest of his time at home, on his small farm that the previous owner had abandoned (he doesn’t know the story of its past, but it’d be unlikely to find anything written on it).

today, with the sun coming over the horizon and the wildlife just starting to awaken, ajay drives a stolen car - a habit he should break - disrupting the peaceful aura of dawn, climbing out of it quickly, almost excitedly, when he sees sabal outside, fixing up a fence outside the front of his door.

“sabal!” ajay says, with a weird sense of eagerness. “i missed you.” that, those three little words, messes with everything they’d formed. though they may say it silently, through their touching, curious hands, or the Looks **™** they share, they never say it aloud, as if it would break the mirage they so carefully formed.

sabal says it back, however, with no hesitation as he pulls ajay into his arms.

“you smell of shit.”

“that’s what a farm’ll do to you.”

a laugh; a familiar, breathy sound shared between the two.

“you’re here early. sleeping okay?” sabal asks, a worried note in his voice. he knows about the nightmares or, on the opposite side of the spectrum, the sleepless nights caused by a wandering mind.

ajay nods, though they both know he’s not, if he’s out of his house before nine o’clock. “just one of those days.” he replies, and they both know how that feels.

“you wanna sit down for food, or you wanna help out?” it’s a choice, heavily dependant on ajay’s mood. sometimes, he’s so tired that he feels like another step will kill him, so he’ll sit down, and they’ll share a drink and a bite of food together, an intimate bonding experience; other times, he feels restless, with a bouncing leg and twitchy hands, so he’ll decide to help, decide to do anything that’ll lead his mind down the dead end of distraction.

“i’ll help.”

these days are harder, though more effective. there will be almost silence between them, and sometimes there’s a radio but it has the ability to make or break the moment.

once the fence is fixed, or the animals have been fed, or the hole in the roof has been patched up, they’ll flop of sabal’s bed together, legs tangled and hands resembling knots. a hand with caress the other’s hair, and they’ll talk about everything and nothing. it’s always like this, once they’re grounded again. they’re both happier, a bit more open once the bad thoughts have gone away.

then, sabal will bring ajay’s hand up to his lips. he’ll kiss his knuckles, one by one, as if wishing the bruises from the day’s labour to leave; it’s an _i love you,_ if i ever saw one.

and ajay will smile, will bring his hand back down to his chest where he grips sabal’s shirt a little tighter, breathing turning into something more relaxed as he breathes in the familiar scent of home, and he will laugh, a stress-free, casual sound.

it’s an _i love you,_ if i ever heard one.

**Author's Note:**

> [far cry 4 playlist (youtube)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_rSVvI_mwOym0wEfUhqfsNM835FDpp2j)


End file.
